Petite Filets
by Literary Bitca
Summary: A collection of unrelated, very short stories (usually just a paragraph or partial scene) written for the Facebook Lizzington Shippers daily One-Sentence-Story prompts. Little, itty bitty, tiny mini ficlets. Some fluff, some humor, some angst, some romance.
1. Blackboard

Disclaimer: Not mine! At all!

Author's Note: The title for this collection comes from my ladies in the Gutter, who encouraged me to post these, saying they loved my little "filets"... an adorable typo instead of "ficlets". And the title was born. :) Blatant disregard for the one-sentence part of the FB Lizzington Shippers ONE SENTENCE Stories on this one. Also? Imagine this situated sometime in the first half of Season Three, while Red and Liz are on the run together.

Prompt: "Blackboard"

...:::...

Their latest safe house was comfortable and warm, and Liz reveled in the normalcy of the evening. Reddington leaned forward and offered to refill Liz's wine, but she waved him off, wrinkling her nose and hovering her palm over the top of her glass to block any attempts at pouring more for her. He gave a knowing smile as he reclined again, his arm thrown out across the back of the sofa next to him. "Last Thursday really taught you a lesson, didn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

Liz sighed, slightly embarrassed. "Yes. 'Five glasses of wine is too many'," she admitted dutifully.

"And I didn't even need to make you write that out a hundred times on a blackboard in chalk." Reddington sipped his drink. "Though there _are_ a few other behaviors of yours we might work on by employing that method..."

Liz gave a jokingly accosted scoff, one hand on her chest as if he'd wounded her. "Oh really? For instance...?"

"'Raymond Reddington's hats are not disposable items'," he replied.

"That was _one time_!" Liz cried out in her own defense, laughing. "And I've apologized I-don't-know-how-many-times at this point. Besides, I really thought _not getting arrested_ was more important than a fashion accessory."

"'A good hat is more than just "a fashion accessory"'," Reddington continued.

"You're never going to let me live that down," Liz said, still smiling and shaking her head.

"'Raymond Reddington is always correct'," he suggested.

Liz rolled her eyes. "Like _you_ don't need to write 'Torturing someone for information does not count as social interaction' a hundred times? I think you could stand to learn a few lessons this way yourself." Liz raised her eyebrows pointedly and crossed her arms.

"'I will not refer to people born before 1970 as "old"'."

"Ha!" Liz barked out a laugh. "I _knew_ I struck a nerve with that one! Okay, okay, um... 'I will not discharge a firearm in a crowded restaurant just so I get my egg drop soup faster'."

Reddington nodded his head forward, acknowledging the fair point. "'Graciously accepting gifts is the polite thing to do'." He offered this with his eyes downcast, but looked up in time to catch the smile fade from Liz's face as their joke staled.

"'You can't buy love or forgiveness'," Liz responded.

"'I deserve happiness'."

"'I must tell the truth'," Liz fired back.

"'Red does not lie to me'," Reddington said, his voice suddenly low and soft, but very serious.

Silence stretched between them as each wondered who would be the first to look away. Finally, Liz gave in. Forcing a small smile, she shrugged, and leaned forward to grab her empty wine glass and dessert plate from the coffee table in front of her. "Really is too bad we don't have a blackboard, hmm?" she said quietly as she moved to the small kitchen to clean up.

...:::...


	2. I'm Here

Disclaimer: Not mine! At all!

Author's Note: Another scene born from blatant disregard of the one-sentence part of this exercise. Set in the first half of Season Three.

Prompt: "I'm Here"

...:::...

"My whole life is _gone_ , Reddington!" Liz burst out, interrupting him. "I don't have a home anymore! No husband, no dog, I can't call my friends, I can't eat at my favorite restaurants anymore. I wear other people's clothes, or random things we pick up along the way from stores that aren't my taste!" She grabbed a handful of her hair and gave it a harsh, angry tug. "I _hate_ being blonde, and every time I look in the mirror I feel like there's some other woman staring back at me! This isn't _me_!" Liz realized her voice was getting louder and more desperate, but she couldn't manage to reel it back in as she paced the room, suddenly feeling simultaneously claustrophobic, and all-too exposed. "At night, when I feel like everything that was me is slipping away, I don't even have anything personal to look at, to touch. I have no clue what happened to all my things… The pictures of my dad, things from my childhood…" Liz's eyes cast around the room frantically, welling with tears. "We run from safe house to safe house, but everywhere we go is just another _there_ –nothing feels like _here_." Liz threw her arms out to either side, indicating the room. " _Here!_ –there's nothing here that is _mine_ , that I can hold on to, nothing that can remind me of who I am, who I'm fighting _so hard_ to be able to be again!"

Reddington had been listening to her silently, trying his best to allow her to vent, to get out what she needed to say. Without warning, his body moving without his permission, he stood abruptly, the fingers of one hand pressed viciously into his chest. " _I'm here_ ," he protested with a fervid urgency. His outburst seemed to take them both by surprise. Not because of the words he'd said, but because of the despondent vehemence with which he'd said them. Reddington dropped his eyes to the floor, let his hand fall to his side, and swallowed. When he looked back up at Liz, he repeated softly, "I'm here."

...:::...


	3. Rings

Disclaimer: Not mine! Still not mine!

Prompt: "Rings"

...:::...

"Trees have always fascinated me," Red began nonchalantly, walking over to where Liz had been sitting in fretful silence for over an hour. "In the cooler months of spring, the new wood growth is rapid, with large cells, and a lighter color. In the hotter months of summer the growth slows, and the denser wood has a darker color. These layers of seasons are what give the tree rings when it's cut." Red sat on the couch, an appropriate distance from her. "Sometimes the rings are thin, if there was a drought, or a heavy insect presence that year. Good weather creates thicker rings."

"What are you trying to say, Red? I'm in the middle of a skinny ring? Wait until next spring and things should perk up again?" she said with an edge to her voice.

Red gave her a small smile. "The rings made during poor conditions still help hold up the tree. Years later, they're still in there, you just can't see them. The bad times get covered over by the good, but they're still there…lending internal support."

Liz wrinkled her nose, unable to accept the comfort he was trying to provide. "And what if this year is so bad that my tree loses all its roots and falls over? What if some logging company cuts me down?" she asked argumentatively.

Red leaned back and crossed his legs, trying not to let his frustration with her attitude show. "At that point…I guess you just hope to be made into an elegant custom piece of furniture, and not just a few roles of toilet paper."

...:::...


	4. Samar

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Not a single one.

Author's Note: No prompt on this one, I just wrote this scene for funsies. I really want some fun scenes with Red and Samar in the second half of Season Three.

...:::...

"Someone's coming." Samar's voice was barely above a whisper as she shoved Reddington back down the hallway toward the sounds of the packed bar downstairs.

"We can't leave yet—I'm not leaving without her—" Reddington protested, trying to brush off Samar's attempts to herd him.

Samar stood her ground, blocking Reddington from continuing toward the rest of the building. With a hushed, hurried tone and an earnest expression on her face, she pointed out, "If they catch you snooping around in here, they'll shoot you. And if you're dead, you'll never see Liz again."

Reddington's mouth worked in frustration as he leaned to the side to look past Samar one last time. "Fine," he said, and let her push him backwards the way they'd come in.

Just as they rounded a corner and neared the top of the stairs, a door behind them in the hall gave a whine as it was wrenched open. The lack of illumination in the bar was mimicked all the way up the stairs, and Samar spun and grabbed Reddington by his lapels, quickly pressing him against the nearest dark wall with her body. She tilted her head and stopped just short of his mouth, and when she spoke, he could feel the accidental brush of her lips against his. "If this is going to work, you need to sell this a bit better," she breathed.

As the quick, steady footfalls rounded the corner toward them, Reddington grasped at Samar's hips, running his hands up her sides and over her shoulders to tangle and grip possessively in her hair. He swallowed harshly, wishing he could see who was approaching him, but it was much too dark, and Samar had cut off his view entirely.

The quick footsteps faltered, and stopped. "Reddington…?" Liz's voice was hesitant. " _Samar_?" she added, her tone gaining strength in disbelief tinged with anger.

Samar pushed back from Reddington, twisting to see Liz standing five feet from them. She looked slightly worse for the wear: her hair was wild and damp, and she had a cut with an accompanying bruise on one cheekbone.

"Liz!" Samar was relieved to find the other woman standing behind her, and surprised that they hadn't had to shoot their way through a pack of guards, or pick several locks in order to find her. The confused look on Liz's face, however, was quickly melting into one of horrified realization, and Samar moved away from Reddington, her hands held up as if to signify she was unarmed. "This isn't… We weren't actually—"

"You came to get me out of here?" Liz interrupted.

"Yes, we—"

"I assume you have a car?" Liz continued. Her would-be rescuers nodded. Liz pushed past them and started hurrying down the stairs. "Good; then let's go."

Samar and Reddington immediately fell into step behind her. "Lizzie, stop—may I—"

"Escape now, don't explain later," Liz called over her shoulder as all three plunged into the throng of bar patrons at the bottom of the stairs.

...:::...


	5. Funeral

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Prompt: "Funeral"

...:::...

Feeling bored and particularly morbid one day, stuck in a cramped van, waiting for word on the location of their next target, Liz had sighed and slumped down in the backseat next to Reddington. "Do you ever think about your own funeral?" she asked.

"All the time," Reddington answered, not looking up from the paperwork in his lap. "Very specific arrangements have been made, with several different scenarios depending on whether it's accidental or natural, and my general physical state when it happens."

"Physical state?" Liz questioned.

"Whether I'm all in one piece or not. Whether there's even a body to be buried." When Reddington didn't hear a response from Liz, he looked up to see her best efforts to hide the dismay on her face. He immediately regretted being so honest with her, and hoping to lighten the mood somewhat he continued, "I know some people want the end to come quickly… to not even see it coming. Personally, I'm hoping for something drawn out and dramatic, preferably with an extended period of lucidity and awareness before it finally takes me, because frankly, I'll have a lot to say. _My_ death bed confession? Will be epic."

...:::...


	6. Super Shorties Part 1

Disclaimer: Not mine! At all!

Author's Note: These are all supposed to be one sentence long. These ones are probably the closest I come to abiding by that direction.

* * *

Prompt: "Gone"

...:::...

Lizzie watched with a mix of horror and shock as Reddington strode unhurriedly up the long driveway, his contact's house crumbled in a heap of detonated rubble behind him. He'd said he needed five minutes alone with him–'just to talk'–and before she could form the question of what the _hell_ just happened to warrant the complete destruction of the man's home, Reddington came to a stop in front of her, tilted his head to one side, and said with a deadpan expression, "There was a spider." He straightened and moved toward their car, adding glibly, "It's gone now."

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Intercession", set during 2x19.

...:::...

Reddington's raised voice faltered and slurred, and Liz stopped arguing as she watched confusion pass over his slackening face; she looked up in surprise at the older woman adjusting the pain pump attached to Reddington's IV as his head lolled to one side. "My apologies, Dearie," Mr. Kaplan directed at the now unresponsive man, "but I felt the need to intercede before one of you said something you would regret later."

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Boxes"

...:::...

Samar had developed a terrible habit of sneaking up on Aram as he sat at his computer, and every time she silently appeared at his elbow to comment about what graced his screen he jumped, but he could safely say he'd never been more embarrassed in his life than when–during his lunch break–Samar's voice asked smugly over his shoulder what he was looking at, and, knowing she'd seen exactly what it was and was just making him say it out loud to torture him, he admitted, his face burning, "Videos of cats trying to fit in really small boxes…."

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Chalk Dust"

...:::...

Liz stumbled frantically over to where Reddington struggled on the ground, half-pinned beneath rubble, both of them covered in blood, dust, and building debris. He groaned an apology as Liz fought to pull him free, and when he finally stood in front of her, a contrite look on his face and hunched slightly to one side–broken ribs, more than likely–but not significantly worse for wear, she allowed herself a sigh of relief, and she rolled her eyes as she turned and walked away from him, covering her previous panic about his well-being by tossing a snarky comment back over her shoulder: "If you're through trying to become a chalk outline on the pavement? We should really get out of here."

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Coma"

...:::...

Perfectly aware that the phone call was being traced, Reddington took his last twenty seconds of time to ask Ressler, "Donald, you're at the office, aren't you? Probably stuffed into a tight suit with a skinny tie, and hair gel that makes you look–impossibly–even more pinched. Yes?"

"Yeah, why?" Ressler answered, rolling his eyes and vamping for time.

"Oh, I just wish you'd loosen up a bit sometimes. Do us all a favor Donald," Red insisted as Dembe counted down the seconds before the trace was complete on his fingers, held in the air for Red to see. "–and slip into something more comfortable. Like a coma."

Back at the Post Office, Aram shook his head as the line went dead, and shrugged as he said, "He hung up before we could complete the trace."

...:::...


	7. Ink

Disclaimer: Not mine! I own nothing! I admit to nothing!

Prompt: "Ink"

...:::...

"How many tattoos do you have?" Liz asked after a long period of silence, not bothering to turn around to face Reddington where he lay on the cot behind her.

"You assume I have tattoos."

Liz shrugged. "You were in the military," she said as if that was all the evidence she needed. "You're telling me you didn't get ANY ink while you were in the Navy? Not your daughter's name? Not a heart with a 'MOM' ribbon over it? Not even 'Semper fi'?"

"Semper fi is classically a motto of the Marines, not the Navy."

Liz finally turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Seriously… how many? If we're stuck in here for a week or more, you might as well tell me. I've seen most of your arms and legs bare at this point. And a good portion of your chest." She raised her eyebrows. "So I'm going to guess your tattoos are all on your back? Come on… what do you have?"

Reddington sighed, gazing up at the ceiling that doubled as a floor above him. "Had. Not have. I had a tattoo on the back of my left shoulder."

Liz wrinkled her nose. "Ex-girlfriend's name? Drunken mistake you regretted in the morning? Must've been something pretty objectionable for you to resort to lasering it off. I've heard tattoo removal is really painful…"

Reddington pursed his lips and nodded. "It wasn't a comfortable process," he agreed.

...:::...


	8. Cattington

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: I wanted to write a bunch of little bits about Red living in his "weird little apartment" with his fat housecat.

Prompt: "Cattington"

...:::...

"Lizzie, I'm working on a crossword, sweetheart, please stop," Red said as the cat batted at the pen in his hand.

* * *

"I brought you a treat, Lizzie." Red opened a tin can on the counter as the cat jumped up beside him curiously. "I know," he agreed, as she pushed the side of her head against his hand, "it's your favorite."

* * *

"Lizzie, it is 4am," Reddington groaned from beneath his pile of blankets and old quilts. "I haven't had an uninterrupted night of sleep in a real bed in over a month, and if you don't stop chasing my ghosts at full speed from one end of this flat to the other, I will toss you out on to the fire escape."

* * *

Reddington yanked impatiently at the sheets. "So when I want you to settle down and just curl up with me, you refuse, but the minute I try to make the bed, the _only_ place you want to be is under the covers. Lizzie…you're infuriating."

* * *

Reddington walked in to his flat and sighed as he set down his keys and hat on the counter, surveying the carnage. "Lizzie… not another plant…"

* * *

As the cat settled contentedly on Reddington's thighs, he rolled his eyes and made a frustrated gesture with his hands. "Lizzie, I've been sitting here for an hour with you ignoring me from the windowsill, and the *minute* I decide it's time to go… _now_ you want to sit on my lap?"

* * *

The cat purred, and wound between his legs before he bent down to scoop up the happy feline. "I know, Lizzie… I missed you, too."

...:::...


	9. Ignore

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Author's Note: I decided against a one sentence story or even an expanded minific for this prompt, and decided to go with classical poetry. I was feeling extravagant; I've always thought you can use much more fanciful verbiage and get away with it when you're writing in iambic pentameter. ;)

Prompt: "Ignore"

...:::...

Though Reddington does swear he loves her so  
'Tis only in his mind, ne'er on his lips  
He wishes he might cause her more than woe  
And brush hot tears away on fingertips  
Took flight together to avoid arrest  
She'd laid her head upon him soft and sad  
Exquisite feelings blossomed in his chest  
Fierce urges driving him stark raving mad  
But O! To touch, to kiss, to breathe her in  
To lay with her and worship every inch!  
So undeserving; failed to steal her sin  
Self silent censures cause his soul to flinch  
Though aching heart and shrieking mind implored  
This criminal's desir' remained ignored

...:::...


	10. Nick's Pizza

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Prompt: "Nick's Pizza"

...:::...

The first time Liz picked up her phone and saw "Nick's Pizza" on the caller ID, she frowned in confusion. Unless the number was already in her Contacts list, a name would not show up with the call; just the number. She was _sure_ she hadn't heard of a Nick's Pizza anywhere in DC, and _quite positive_ she had not entered a contact into her phone under that name. And yet here it was, calling her at 9am on a Tuesday.

Suspicious but curious, she accepted the call just before it went to voicemail and held the phone to her ear, answering with a slight hesitation, "Hello…?"

"Lizzie! Good, I wasn't sure if you'd already be in your meeting. I'm glad I caught you. Please remind Harold when you see him that he makes _terrible_ decisions the day after his wife takes him out for Indian food, and he'll think he can ignore the file I left on his desk, but it really is quite important."

" _Reddington?_ "

"You sound surprised. I did tell you I'd be in touch today…?"

"The caller ID on my phone says Nick's Pizza."

"Yes, well, I figured programming myself into your contacts as 'Most Wanted' would be a little too on-the-nose."

"You programmed your number into my phone."

"Yes."

"When did you even have access to my–oh, for the love of…. Nevermind. Cooper needs to read a file on his desk?"

"Yes, thank you, Lizzie. I apologize for using you like a glorified carrier pigeon, but the man won't take my calls directly."

"Have you tried stealing his phone and adding yourself without permission to his Contacts?"

"No, but if you see an opportunity to lift his cell during the course of your meeting to do that _for_ me, I'd be eternally gratef–"

Liz hung up the phone, rolled her eyes, and walked in the direction of Cooper's office.

...:::...


	11. Super Shorties Part 2

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a tiny bit.

Author's Note: More super short ones...

Prompt: "Alone"

...:::...

The boxing lessons with Reddington had only been going on for two days, but Liz already hated them: her shoulders were sore, her arms felt like immovable weights, her joints were stiff, and her back was killing her. But despite her protestations and complaints at the early hour, Reddington was in her room, throwing open the curtains to blind her with the garish brilliance of 7am. "Once you've learned to throw a decent punch that I don't see coming, then–and only then–will I 'leave you alone to die', as you so eloquently put it." As he walked back out of her room, he grabbed the edge of her quilt and dragged it off of her, taking it with him as he left.

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Morgue"

...:::...

"Let me get this straight," Liz said, narrowing her eyes at Reddington. "For three years in the mid-nineties, you were officially declared dead by the US government?"

"Mmm-hmm. A charred suit, a fedora, and a badly burned five-foot-ten corpse on loan from the local morgue in the car I was supposed to be driving, and voila! No more Raymond Reddington." He smiled nostalgically, as if discussing the details of his death conjured up fond memories. "The next time we're back in the US I'll take you by my grave. Mr. Kaplan picked out a _beautiful_ headstone…"

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Stars"

...:::...

"'The Starry Night' is one of the most world renowned and beloved paintings ever created," Reddington said nonchalantly, brushing off Liz's insult momentarily. "Did you know the leading theory is that Van Gogh suffered from astigmatism, and the iconic halos he painted in the sky might not have been just his dedication to the impressionistic period, but were probably also a faithful representation of what he actually visually perceived?"

"What's your point?" Liz asked icily.

"My point is that yes, there _is_ most likely something 'wrong' with me, as you put it. Just do us both a favor, Lizzy, and keep in mind the fact that 'wrong' isn't always synonymous with 'bad'."

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Grace"

...:::...

Reddington–stuck in his chair by the window, his casted, broken leg stretched out blatantly in front of him–took the offered binoculars from Lizzie, raising an eyebrow at her subtle Hitchcock joke. "I seem to remember Grace Kelly sitting on Jimmy Stewart's lap at one point in this movie…?" he pointed out, smiling as Liz rolled her eyes, backed away from him, and pointedly picked a spot on the far end of the couch to sit.

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Breakable"

...:::...

"No more temper tantrums; I'm not in the mood to put all my books back on their shelves again or sweep up fragments of another mug from my kitchen floor, so if I let you in–" Reddington paused, still blocking the entrance to his flat, taking several breaths before continuing, "–please don't break anything,–" his tone low and tight as he wondered if he'd be picking up shattered pieces of _himself_ as she left later that night.

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Born"

...:::...

Reddington was a naturally affectionate person: he was born that way, and his natural instinct was always to touch, to feel, to hug and kiss, and it took a massive amount of restraint on his part not to extend these habits to include his interactions with Lizzie. He often thought if he could have just one wish—if a genie popped out of a bottle and granted him just one—he'd ask for physical contact, initiated by her. _Any_ physical contact would do; it could be as simple as her hand on his face… he just needed to be _touched._

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Erratic"

...:::...

The weather had been erratic, and Reddington had even _told_ her that if she brought an umbrella, it wouldn't rain, and if she didn't, it would most likely _pour_ , but she'd stubbornly left without one; by the time she got to their pre-arranged meeting place she looked like a drowned rat, but Reddington, thankfully, made no mention of her appearance, just offered her his arm, tucked her close to his side and moved his massive black umbrella over both of them as they walked.

...:::...


	12. Push

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Prompt: "Push"

...:::...

Reddington had continued to needle her about her wardrobe as they walked off the grass, past the pool, and toward the house, finally going so far as to pull at the collar of her shirt while making an insulting comparison to a librarian. Liz automatically pushed his hand away and gave his shoulder a light shove; a warning not to touch her when she was already angry. Reddington took a stabilizing step backwards, lost his footing on the hose coiled at his feet, and before Liz could stop the process, Reddington was in the pool. After a moment he surfaced silently ('like a crocodile,' thought Liz) and fixed his eyes on her. She did her best to bite down on the laugh that threatened to bubble up in her chest at the sight.

"Oh, Reddington… I didn't mean to–I mean, I didn't see the…" He started wading slowly through the chest-deep water toward the stairs, never taking his eyes off of Liz. The small smile on her face immediately vanished. "Red, seriously… that was an accident… you can't think that I–Red? Don't look at me like that, you _know_ I never would have intentionally… Red?" As he climbed the steps out of the pool, water weighing down his previously-expensive suit and pouring off of him, Liz did the only thing she could think of: she turned tail and took off sprinting toward the house.

...:::...


	13. Starve

Disclaimer: Still not...oh, you know what I'm going to say at this point... Disclaimed.

Author's Note: I couldn't write just one... I had three ideas for this prompt, so I wrote three sentences. :)

Prompt: "Starve"

...:::...

"Lizzie, sweetheart, while I generally find your attempts at domesticity endearing, if you don't stop trying to perfect this–" Red stopped and peered, befuddled, at his plate, "…what is this, actually, I'm confused, is this supposed to be curry?–if you don't stop trying to get this right…" He shook his head. "You know I love you, but Lizzie… _the both of us are going to starve_."

* * *

Reddington was of the mistaken impression that he could starve the small part of his soul that longed for redemption, and that over time it would wither and die, but Lizzie–damn her–acted as its life support, keeping that small, pathetic lump of his soul alive, and– _damn_ her–actually nurturing it enough that in the last two years, the abominable lump had not only survived, but _grown_ , and the thing that hurt the most was that she wasn't even aware she was doing it.

* * *

Reddington stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed, and walked through the small flat toward the kitchen. "What in the world could _possibly_ be so important that you have to cry like someone is trying to skin you at two in the…" He sighed, looking down at his fat, now affectionate and silent housecat as it wound its way around his ankles. "Oh, I see. Your food bowl is half empty." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "That _definitely_ warrants all this noise; _surely_ you're about to starve."

...:::...


	14. Muse

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Prompt: "Muse"

...:::...

Liz sighed. "You know, I never wanted to be famous? So many people do, these days... And usually, they just want the fame; they don't want to have to _work_ for it." She shook her head. "I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help solve cases and catch bad guys, and then have my little stupid fantasy family to go home to. I never wanted notoriety."

" _I_ sure did," Reddington offered, walking slowly along the length of the bookshelves that covered the entirety of one of the walls. "Even when I had almost exactly what _you_ now wish for, I always felt like there was something grander that I could be a part of. That I _should_ be a part of." He stopped to run his fingers along the spine of one book before pulling it from the shelf to inspect it more closely. "Grass is always greener, I suppose."

"Yeah, but you _got_ yours," Liz said, sitting forward in her chair, her elbows on her knees. "You got the fame, the fortune; the ability to exert influence and change things." She gave a frustrated eye roll, even though Reddington, with his back turned, couldn't see her. "I'm never going to be able to trade in what I _have_ for what I _want_. This process doesn't work backwards," she sighed.

"No, but you can't tell me it doesn't delight you - in some small, private way, at the very least - that you will be remembered." Reddington replaced the book and turned to face Liz. "Your name is on a very select list of people now - those who have been 'wanted' by the FBI and are of a high enough caliber to warrant a spot on their Top Ten list. Not only that, but the fact that we're doing our best impression of Bonnie-and-Clyde-meets-The-Fugitive means that very likely you're going to end up the muse of many students and scholars for years to come, who will romanticize you, and profile you, and pour their heart and soul into theses surrounding our actions." Reddington leaned to the side as he smiled down at where Liz sat, one hand resting across the front of his neatly buttoned vest.

"I hope we end up a little more alive than Bonnie and Clyde did," she muttered darkly.

"Even if we don't, the fact that books and papers and articles will be written about us means that someone will put a good deal of time into researching our actions. And you can't write 75,000 words about a person without falling a little bit in love with them." Reddington's smile grew. "And if you get a writer to fall in love with you... you never really die."

Liz wrinkled her nose. "But I don't _want_ to be someone's dissertation!"

Reddington bobbed his head and dropped his hands to his side, returning to the bookshelf and his slow progression along it. "Would you rather a TV movie? Because - let's face it: we're extremely compelling, so there will probably be one of those at some point-"

"Oh _God_..."

"-with some beautiful Hollywood ingenue playing the part of Elizabeth Keen, and really, I shudder to think what kind of knock-off, bargain-basement, abominable quality apparel their tiny, movie-of-the-week wardrobe budget will slap on whoever they get to play _me_..." Reddington winced and reached for another book. "Probably won't be a single non-man-made fiber to be found in the poor chap's entire ensemble..."

...:::...


	15. Superstition

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Author's Note: This takes place some time during 3x04 The Djinn, in the theatre.

...:::...

Prompt: Superstition

...:::...

Reddington raised a silent eyebrow as he watched her, unmoving, from his seat in the front row. Liz caught the expression and stopped. "What."

Reddington shook his head and licked his lips, a small resigned smile playing on his face. Liz narrowed her eyes at him and waited patiently for a response. She could tell she'd made some sort of error as she rifled through the theatre bedroom's bedside table for the book Reddington had mentioned.

" _What_?" Liz repeated.

Reddington gestured to where Liz had casually moved his fedora onto the bed during her search. "A hat laying on a bed is a bad omen. It suggests death, or injury."

"It's not a real bed," Liz argued. "It's a...a set piece. It's fake."

"Mmm," Reddington mused. "You realize we'll be staying here overnight?"

"Yes, but just because one of us is going to _sleep_ in the fake bed doesn't make it real. Besides, when did you suddenly become superstitious?" she asked, doubtfully.

Reddington inclined his head in a gesture of acquiescence, deferring to Liz's assessment of the situation, while simultaneously assigning blame to the hat's current position: she'd said _one_ of them would be sleeping in that bed tonight. If that wasn't bad luck, he didn't know what was. With a flash of immaturity, he decided to go to sleep early that night, leaving Liz on the couch. If only one of them got the fake bed, it was going to be him.

...:::...


	16. Super Shorties Part 3

Disclaimer: Totally mine. (JK.)

Author's Note: More super shorties...

* * *

Prompt: "Devious"

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Reddington chuckled darkly, tilting his head to one side as he regarded the man sitting in front of him, and his smile didn't slip an inch–though his eyes narrowed–as he said, "Yes, you're right, 'devious' is a _wonderful_ word to describe me… but let me also suggest ambitious… ruthless… powerful…" He nodded his head absently, one eyebrow raising as he continued, "…slightly desperate… and frankly, at the moment? _Royally_ pissed off." He picked up the gun off the table and pointed it at his companion. "Now, out of all of those descriptions, and from what you've learned over the past week… do you think I'm the kind of man you want to deal with when he's 'desperate' and 'pissed off'?"

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Isolation"

...:::...

After 72 hours of being on the run with Reddington, still in the same clothes they'd left DC in, with barely eight hours of sleep between them, Liz swallowed thickly as she remembered the lecture at Quantico on brainwashing: "Isolate the victim, deny them consistency with mixed messages, keep them moving or at least on high alert, stir in sleep deprivation with a healthy dose of doubt about what they know and feel, and keep at them until they inevitably wear down…"

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Echo"

...:::...

"Oh, for the love of… _GLEN_ …you look up people's names for a _living_ , Glen. You know how to spell my name; I saw you write it down last Tuesday, the _first_ time I asked you to do this, and if you use that _ridiculous_ excuse about dyslexia pills again, _so help me God_ , I'm going to kill you slowly and hide your little body in one of the broken vending machines out there." Reddington took a deep breath and tried to calm down before he began again, his voice strained but controlled. "ARR-EE-DEE-DEE-EYE-EN-GEE-TEE-OH-EN. That's romeo echo delta delta–"

"I got it, I got it," Glen waved a dismissive hand at Red while he wrote it down in front of him, then paused to give the scrap of paper a curious look. "Have you always spelled it with two D's?"

" _GLEN–!_ "

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Tea"

...:::...

When Ressler snapped rudely at Aram during the briefing, Samar took a short step forward, effectively placing herself between the two men, and with narrowed eyes and an edge to her voice, she pointed out that Ressler seemed more on edge than usual, and might do well to consider _backing off_ and taking a vacation day to work off some stress: "Go for a run, drink some tea, meditate–whatever you need to do–but right now you should _probably walk away_."

"I think he just needs to get laid," Reddington suggested in a bored tone, continuing to flip through the files in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the mounting tension in the room.

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Broken" #1

...:::...

There were days when Liz would say something or look at him a certain way, and for a few minutes Reddington would have the unfamiliar sensation of feeling like he meant something to someone, but he steadfastly refused to dwell on those times, or even let himself enjoy them, because without fail their next interaction would turn sour and disappointing. As long as he didn't pay attention to the moments of light, the darkness he lived in didn't seem strange, and the hits he took didn't leave him broken.

...:::...

Prompt: "Broken" #2

...:::...

"Oh DEAR–let me guess…" Red began, looking Liz up and down with a single, lifted eyebrow. "Either you slept at your desk last night, or the crappy hair dryer attached to the wall in your motel bathroom is broken."

...:::...

* * *

Prompt: "Dim"

...:::...

When Liz complained about the level of light in Red's favorite room at his current safe house (a poorly lit study full of old books and a collection of small tchotchkes) he informed her that Donald's switch was on the wall behind her, and when he was met with a confused look from her, he added, "I named the lamp Donald… it's so wonderfully _dim_."

...:::...


End file.
